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Transcript of The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here · fi ˜˚ ˛˝˙ˆ˚ ˇ˘ ˆ ˚ ˚ ˝ ˝ˆ˚ ˝ ˛ ˚ ˘ ˝ˆ˚...
REVIEWS
A side project of Dixie Chicks’ Martie Maguire and Emily Robison, Court Yard Hounds delivers much-ant ic ipated
insight—both musical and personal—into the sisters who have for so long ceded center stage to Chicks singer Natalie Maines. Though steeped in familiar instrumentation, the album offers little of the barn-burning brashness that made the Chicks famous (save perhaps the gutsy “Ain’t No Son”). Instead, its delicate folk-pop prettiness perfectly suits Robison’s more-than-capable voice and the jumble of emotions, sunny and melancholy, that emerge in a song cycle inspired by her 2008 divorce. Maguire’s weeping fi ddle and seamless harmonies are welcome as always, and her one turn on lead vocals (“Gracefully”) is so warmly affecting that listeners may wish she stepped to the mic more often. Court Yard Hounds ably demonstrates that, whether with their fellow Dixie Chick or without, these ladies’ talent runs deep. –Katie Dodd
For a dozen years, the arrangements on Rufus Wainwright’s albums got busier and his sometimes naughty, occasionally angry declarations of gay pride got louder. Each
new offering suggested that its creator was a few strides closer to crafting something truly monumental in both musical and social terms. This cold and private set isn’t it, although that’s probably due more to personal circumstances than anything related to talent. Wainwright wrote All Days Are Nights while his mother, Kate McGarrigle, was dying of cancer, and there is a quiet, complex sadness even in its less autobiographical material. There’s nothing here except piano and vocal, and Wainwright doesn’t project his words in the way we’ve come to expect from him. Instead of serenading the person in the farthest corner of a packed theater, he’s singing to himself in an otherwise empty room. –David Styburski
Ozomatli’s music has been called a collision of styles, a cultural mash-up, and a 20-car pileup of genres. It’s also some of the most joyfully energetic music you’ll ever hear. On its fi fth album, the L.A.-based band stirs its blend of salsa, ska, samba, funk, and hip-hop in ways few groups could conceive. Imagine tossing the English Beat, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Caetano Veloso, and Sly and the Family Stone into a magical blender and
you get some sense of Ozomatli’s eclectic approach. High points on their latest, Fire Away, include “Are You Ready?,” a horn-and-percussion-driven blast of salsa-fl avored ska; “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah,” an exultant Latin pop anthem fi tted with shrieking sax; and “Gay Vatos in Love,” a rockabilly-tinged tune with a soaring chorus. Even when
OZOMATLI
Fire Away
[Mercer Street/Downtown]
The first album released
under the Hole moniker since
1998’s Celebrity Skin is really
frontwoman Courtney Love’s
second solo album—co-founder,
songwriter and lead guitarist
Eric Erlandson isn’t involved,
nor is any other previous Hole
member. So it’s Love and three
ringers on 11 new songs—10
of which Love wrote with
collaborators like Billy Corgan, Linda Perry and new
guitarist Micko Larkin. (Perry gets full credit on one tune,
“Letter to God.”)
Much of the riveting intensity of the group’s 1990s
heyday appears to have left along with her former
bandmates, but there are fl ashes here of the snarling
fury Love deployed to such devastating effect back in the day.
She spits out her vocals with vengeful disdain on “Skinny Little
Bitch,” overdriven guitars roiling atop an elastic bassline that
speeds up as the song races toward a climatic pile-up at the
end. She shifts tempos and attitude on the more contemplative
“Pacifi c Coast Highway,” taking stock as layers of acoustic and
electric guitars chug along behind her.
Too often, though, the slower songs trip her up. While once
they were showcases for harrowing displays of naked emotion,
Love sounds more dispassionate these days. The production
doesn’t help—the songs have an airless, sanded-down feel that
doesn’t fi t with her visceral persona. Courtney Love’s tumultuous
history suggests that she has a compelling story to tell, and
perhaps she does. It’s just not the one she’s telling on Nobody’s
Daughter. –Eric R. Danton
HOLENobody’s Daughter[Universal]
COURT YARD HOUNDSCourt Yard Hounds
[Columbia]
Dan
iel J
acks
on
RUFUS WAINWRIGHTAll Days Are Nights: Songs
for Lulu
[Decca]
70 MAY 2010
M3_v10.indd 70 5/14/10 3:37 AM
MMUSICMAG.COMISSUE #25
ISSUE #25 M MUSIC & MUSICIANS MAGAZINE
“Hollow,” the opening track on AIC’s fifth album, is a fitting title for a band
that conveys emptiness like no other. Though half the original lineup has
succumbed to a shared demon—substance abuse—the enduring Seattle
grunge group retains its distinctive sound. It’s almost as if late frontman Layne
Staley has returned for the infectiously kinetic “Stone” and the title track’s
foreboding harmony. While Alice goes unplugged in spots, guitarist Jerry
Cantrell and company clearly haven’t mellowed with age. Dinosaurs comes
loaded with dive-bombing guitar solos, demonic vocal climaxes and tempos
that change at the crunch of a bar chord. “Phantom Limb” brings an almost
Slayer-like heaviness, while “Lab Monkey” features some of the most distorted
and guttural basslines perceivable to human ears. Lyrically, the album indulges
those grunge leitmotifs of pain, entrapment and resignation. What makes it so
enjoyable? After a quarter-century, AIC is entering a new prime. –Ray Cavanaugh
‘Dinosaurs comes loaded with dive-bombing guitar solos, demonic
vocal climaxes and tempos that change at the crunch of a bar
chord. After a quarter-century, AIC is entering a new prime.’
ALICE IN CHAINSThe Devil Put Dinosaurs Here
[EMI]